SALADS.
There is not a dish in the gastronomic vocabulary that varies in composition more than a salad. And the reasons for it are many. Among them may be mentioned climatic influences and the personal habits of individuals. The individual who lives well, and who considers a meal imperfect without a wine or malt beverage, will sooner or later learn to use condiments to such an extent as to alarm the more temperate at table. A salad prepared for the majority, he will tell you, cloys on his palate; and, after the first mouthful he resorts to cayenne and vinegar to “tone up” the salad to suit his taste. After this ungenerous act the close observer will notice confusion upon the face of the salad-composer, who felt confident that he had prepared a salad to suit the taste of the most fastidious. But my friend the salad-mixer should not get offended; he should keep in view one fact—that a palate abused by the constant use of tobacco and other stimulants requires more sharp and pungent seasoning than one accustomed to these things only in moderation, and that a strictly temperate person requires less of condiments than either of them.
The dyspeptic’s case is entirely different. He will complain of a salad in any form, accusing the oil of causing all his trouble. But he is wrong. Let him stop flooding his food with liquids that only dilute and weaken the gastric juices of the stomach and he will soon be rid of dyspepsia and learn to love salads as much as other people. The habit of washing down each mouthful of food with liquids is a deplorable one, and the person that does it invites dyspepsia by so doing. Persons who are in the habit of eating salads late at night, and who complain of indigestion next morning, will find it to their advantage to add half a teaspoonful of chicken pepsin to each pint of Mayonnaise; by so doing digestion is assisted, and everyone will feel very much better next day.
In catering for families I invariably add pepsin to the dressing, but until now have kept it a secret, not liking the idea of being accused of mixing medicine with the food. Nevertheless I have been amply rewarded by receiving more orders than I could personally attend to.
The following letter will explain itself:
Dear Sir: Please send two quarts of chicken salad manipulated by yourself; the last we had prepared by you left a pleasant recollection. Send up promptly at five o’clock, and oblige,
Lettuce Salad.—Take a good-sized head of lettuce and pull the leaves apart. Wash them a moment in a little water, then shake off the water and dry the leaves in a napkin by taking hold of the four corners and shaking it. Examine them carefully, wipe off all grit, and reject all bruised leaves; place them in a salad-bowl large enough to dress them in nicely without scattering a part of them over the table. Mix one salt-spoonful of salt, one salt-spoonful of fresh ground pepper, and a dust of cayenne with a tablespoonful of oil in a salad spoon; pour this over the lettuce, and add two more tablespoonfuls of oil; next toss the salad lightly with a salad spoon and fork, and, lastly, add a tablespoonful of vinegar; toss it gently once or twice and send to table. To be eaten at once. Never cut lettuce. Should you wish to divide the leaves tear them apart gently. But it is not always necessary to tear the leaves, should they appear too large to eat gracefully. With the assistance of your knife you can wrap the leaf round the end of your fork so as to make a small ball of it, and eat it with a little more elegance than your neighbor, who is trying his level best to get the leaf into his mouth edgeways.
Plain French Dressing.—A plain French dressing is made of salt, pepper, oil, and vinegar, and nothing else. Three tablespoonfuls of oil to one of vinegar, salt-spoon heaping full of salt, an even salt-spoonful of pepper mixed with a little cayenne.
Plain English Dressing.—Same as plain French dressing, with a teaspoonful of made English mustard added.
Bacon Dressing.—Cut half a pound of bacon fat into slices, then into very small pieces, and fry them until the oil extracted is a light brown; remove the pan from the fire and add the juice of a lemon, one wineglassful of strong vinegar, a salt-spoonful of pepper, and pour it over the salad with the pieces of bacon. A very nice dressing when you cannot get oil, etc.
Summer Mayonnaise.—Chop up the yolk and white of a hard-boiled egg very fine, and sprinkle it over a salad. Mix a plain French dressing in a cold soup-plate, and pour over the egg and salad, and mix all together.
Sauce Vinaigrette.—Mix a plain French dressing, and add to it a quarter of an onion chopped fine, a teaspoonful of chopped parsley or pickle.
Don’t like the onion? Then add a few Godillot capers.
Mayonnaise Sauce.—Work the yolks of two raw eggs to a smooth paste, and add two salt-spoonfuls of Royal Table Salt, half a salt-spoonful of cayenne, a salt-spoonful of dry mustard, and a teaspoonful of oil; mix these ingredients thoroughly and add the strained juice of half a lemon. Take the remainder of half a pint of Virgin olive-oil and add it gradually, a teaspoonful at a time, and every fifth teaspoonful add a few drops of lemon-juice until you have used two lemons and the half-pint of oil.
There are almost as many ways of making a Mayonnaise sauce as there are of cooking eggs.
Mayonnaise Sauce, No. 2.—Rub the yolks of three hard-boiled eggs with the yolk of one raw egg to a smooth paste; add a heaping teaspoonful of salt, two salt-spoonfuls of white pepper, and two salt-spoonfuls of made mustard; mix thoroughly and work a gill of oil gradually into the mixture, alternated with a teaspoonful of tarragon vinegar until you have used three tablespoonfuls of vinegar. Should the sauce appear too thick add a wineglassful of cream gradually.
Lobster Salad.—Tear the meat of the lobster into shreds with two forks; remove the eggs (if a hen lobster) from the fins; scrape out all the green fat from the shell and set it aside. Prepare for making a Mayonnaise by working a tablespoonful of the fat into a smooth paste; let this green fat, with the yolk of one raw egg and one hard-boiled egg, be the basis of your Mayonnaise; in all other particulars follow instruction for Mayonnaise sauce. When complete mix the lobster meat with three tablespoonfuls of the sauce. Cover the bottom of a dish or compot with lettuce (the large leaves tear in two), put a layer of lobster upon it; next add a layer of celery cut into narrow-inch strips, and another layer of lobster; arrange it neatly on the dish; sprinkle the eggs or the chopped coral on the lettuce round the edges; pour the sauce over the meat, garnish with lobster-legs, and serve.
Somebody sent to the Washington Republic’s correspondent, “G. H. B.,” while he was laid up in Providence hospital with the gout, a very fine lobster, and this is what he did with it: “Now, I’ll tell you about that lobster. I had him laid away tenderly in the ice-chest, and directed him to appear at dinner with some leaves of lettuce and a raw egg. The yolk of that egg I mingled, with slow, deliberate revolutions of a fork, with mustard, red pepper, salt, and oil. When the paste was thick enough to take up on the end of the fork like dough I thinned it—‘cut it’ is technical—with vinegar, and there was my dressing. I planted a table facing the snow-storm, at which I mocked and jeered in a temperature of seventy degrees Fahrenheit. Then did I disrobe the ‘Cardinal of the Seas’ (you remember the Frenchman who applied that to lobsters, thinking they came from the ocean red?) of his vestments, and by the aid of a long pickle-spoon placed all that was in him on the plate. His legs I chewed up. Then I ate him, and watched the many industrious, hard-working fathers of families trudging by in the snow, who had no lobster, and couldn’t have dressed him if they had. Then I finished up on some sponge-cake and custard, ate two apples with a sprinkle of salt, lit my pipe, and in its smoke framed beautiful porcelain figures engraven with Chinese characters and Hindoo idols. That’s what I did with that lobster. He was a prime one and very much interested the Sisters.”
Chicken Salad.—Cut up a cold boiled chicken into neat strips or pieces, and mix with it an equal quantity of celery. Cut the celery-stalks into inch pieces, and cut each piece into long strips; mix them together with a few spoonfuls of Mayonnaise; arrange neatly upon a dish garnished with lettuce, parsley, or hard-boiled egg, pour the remainder of the sauce over the meat, and serve.
Veal Salad.—Boil a nice lean piece of veal with a chicken or turkey, saving the water in which they were boiled to make a soup, and serving the fowl for dinner with egg or oyster sauce. When cold cut it up into neat strips, mix it with celery or lettuce, pour Mayonnaise over it, and serve.
The custom of pickling the pieces, etc., of fowl before mixing them in a salad does not take well with Americans.
Herring Salad.—Soak four Holland herrings in water or milk for three hours; then cut them up into neat, square pieces and set them aside; cut up into slices nearly three quarts of boiled potatoes while they are hot, and pour over them Rhine wine enough to moisten them; cover close, and when cold add the herrings and the yolks of four hard-boiled eggs chopped fine; crush a dozen whole peppers in a napkin, add to the salad, and mix. If milt herrings are used pound the milt to a paste, moisten it with vinegar, and pour over the salad.
If roe herring are used, separate the eggs neatly and sprinkle them over the salad, and serve.
I know a number of my German friends who will say, “Ah! that is not a herring salad.” Where are the apples, the capers, beets, pickles, etc.? But the only answer I can make them is that the majority of our German brethren make an Italian or a Russian salad and call it a herring salad.
Potato Salad.—Cut up three quarts of boiled potatoes, while hot, into neat pieces, and add to them a tablespoonful of chopped parsley, a tablespoonful of chopped onion, a teaspoonful of pepper, and one of salt; add a cupful of oil, and mix; then add a cupful of warm stock, a wineglassful of vinegar (from the mixed-pickle bottle), mix the ingredients together carefully, and do not break the potato any more than is absolutely necessary; set it in the ice-box, and when cold serve by placing a leaf of lettuce on a side-dish, and put two spoonfuls of the salad upon the lettuce. The onion and parsley may be omitted, and boiled root celery added, or a little stalk celery chopped fine. You cannot make a perfect potato salad with cold boiled potatoes. Most cook-books recommend them, but that soggy, peculiar taste cannot be removed or destroyed by all the condiments in the cruet-stand. A salad prepared while the potatoes are hot will look more appetizing and will keep three or four days, while cold boiled potatoes will turn a black, uninviting color, and turn sour the second day.
Turnip Tops.—When turnips placed in the cellar begin to sprout they are usually thrown away, but the housekeeper of experience will tell you that a bushel of turnips will furnish her family with a salad all winter, and a very good one if properly prepared.
Place the bushel of turnips in a dark, warm cellar to sprout, and when the sprouts are three or four inches long cut them off; pick the leaves from the stems, and pour hot water over them; let them remain in the hot water a moment, then plunge them into cold water; place the sprouts in the colander to drain off all the water, and send to table with a plain dressing or bacon dressing poured over them.
Asparagus Salad.—Boil the asparagus, and take it from the hot water and plunge it into cold water to give it firmness; drain off the water, and send to table with sauce Vinaigrette or plain French dressing.
Hop Sprouts.—The hop-growers pull up all but two or three sprouts from a hill of hops, and throw them away; the few that remain in the hill are supposed to do duty as pole-climbers. Gather a small basketful of the rejected sprouts; take them home; boil them in salted water a few minutes, then plunge them into cold water; drain off all the water, and serve with a plain French dressing, bacon dressing, or sauce Vinaigrette.
If you eat asparagus you will like hop sprouts.
Cucumber Salad.—Peel and slice the cucumbers as thin as possible; put the slices in salted water five minutes, then draw off the water; cover them with vinegar, half a teaspoonful of pepper, and salt if necessary.
Cucumber and Tomato Salad.—Peel and slice a five-inch cucumber into very thin slices; put them in a bowl with half a teaspoonful of salt and two tablespoonfuls of vinegar; set it aside and mix a plain English dressing.
Take one large or two small-sized tomatoes, scald them a moment, remove the skin and put them in cold water a few minutes to cool; line the salad-bowl with lettuce, drain the cucumbers from the pickle and put them in the bowl; wipe the tomatoes and cut them into slices; put them on top of the cucumber, pour the dressing over it, and serve.
Send by express, to-morrow, one hundred Murrey salad sandwiches.
Murrey’s Salad Sandwich.—Cut up four ounces of breast of boiled chicken and four ounces of tongue, place them in a mortar, and pound them to a paste; add two salt-spoonfuls of celery-salt, a pinch of cayenne, a teaspoonful of anchovy paste, and four tablespoonfuls of Mayonnaise; put the mixture on a cold dish, and set it aside.
Take a few neat leaves of lettuce, dip each leaf in a little tarragon vinegar, shake it, and place it on a slice of bread; spread a layer of the prepared meat over the lettuce, then another leaf of lettuce over the meat, and the other slice of bread, and your sandwich is made. Trim off the crust, cut each sandwich in two, and fold each piece neatly in confectionery (oiled) paper.
Ham and veal make a nice salad sandwich. The meat may be spread on the bread and the lettuce in the centre, if preferred.
Muskmelon Salad.—Should you be so unfortunate as to receive an insipid, over-ripe melon, do not send it from the table, but scoop it out on your plate with a spoon, pour a French dressing over it, and you will thank me for the suggestion.
Alligator-Pear Salad.—This tropical fruit, that tastes something like our chestnuts, is beginning to find favor among us, but care should be used in selecting the fruit. The green colored fruit is the best; the black, over-ripe fruit is useless. Cut the pear in two, remove the large seed, cut away the outer rind, then cut the fruit into strips and season with a salt-spoonful of salt, two tablespoonfuls best Virgin olive-oil, a teaspoonful of tarragon vinegar—nothing else.
Salt.—Of all the condiments now in use salt is the most essential. The health of every individual depends upon it, and it is as much required as food or drink; therefore the salt question is an important one to families. Do not buy salt so fine as to cake in the salt-cellar, for it is almost useless; nor use a very coarse salt; a happy medium is the thing. What is known to the trade as Royal Table Salt is the proper fineness and best adapted for hotels and family use.
Mushrooms.—I have purposely avoided introducing mushrooms into my receipts on account of the expense attached, but where the expense is only a secondary consideration they may be used indiscriminately. Of the French canned mushrooms the A. Godillot’s brand gives the best satisfaction, being put up and sealed at the source of supply, and, therefore, their natural flavors are preserved. Our field mushrooms are very nice when fresh, cooked in any form. To distinguish them from the poisonous fungi, “A Constant Reader,” writing to the London Times, says: “I venture to send you a simple test of the mushroom, which I have practised for many years, and for which I am indebted to an old herbalist. Before peeling the mushroom pass a gold ring backwards and forwards on the skin of the mushroom; should the bruise thus caused turn yellow or orange color the mushroom is poisonous, but otherwise it is quite safe. I have tried repeated baskets of mushrooms in this way, some turning yellow and others retaining the usual color, though in all other respects to all appearance the same.”
Forney’s Progress on mushrooms:
He saw a fellow gathering mushrooms, and he knew they were the poisonous kind.
“Take care,” he said, “those mushrooms are poisonous.”
“Oh! that makes no difference,” replied the man. “I am not going to eat them; I’m gathering them for market.”
The Mystery of making Loaf Bread—A Trustworthy Receipt.—“Loaf bread,” once said an experienced housekeeper to us, “interferes with the salvation of more housekeepers than any other one thing in the world.” This was probably an extravagant statement, yet to the country housewife who cannot turn to a convenient bakery the duty of breadmaking is too often a heavy cross—a sort of hit-or-miss experiment. Heavy, sour bread is far more general than the opposite, and this is trying to both the digestions and to the tempers of the family who eat it. Yet there is no reason for this; there is a philosophy of breadmaking as of everything else, and certain causes accomplish certain results. Therefore we are glad to be able to give a receipt from a practical housekeeper whose bread never fails: To make two quarts of bread or rolls take four or five nice, large Irish potatoes, peel and cut them up, and put them to boil in just enough water to cover them. When done mash smooth in the same water, and when cool, not cold, add a half-teacupful of yeast—or, if you use compressed yeast, the sixth part of a cake dissolved in tepid water—a dessert-spoonful of sugar, a little salt, a tablespoonful of lard, and a pint of flour. Mix together lightly. This should be very soft and quite sticky. Set by in a covered vessel in a warm place to rise. In two or three hours it will be risen, and should look almost like yeast, full of bubbles. Now work in the rest of your two quarts of flour, and, if necessary, add a little cold water. The dough should be rather soft and need not be kneaded more than half an hour. Set to rest in a moderately warm place for four hours or thereabouts. It can be baked now if wanted at once, but, if not, take a spoon and push the dough down from the top and sides of the vessel containing it, and let it rise again. The oftener the bread rises the lighter it will be—three times is, however, sufficient. After it rises the last time take it out of the vessel and knead it with your hands until it is smooth. If too soft add a little more flour. For rolls, roll out and cut as if for biscuit. If you prefer doubled rolls give each a touch with the rolling-pin to make it oblong, and then double it over. The baking-pan must be greased and the rolls must not touch each other. Set down to rise; this will take half or three-quarters of an hour. Then put in the oven and bake as you would biscuit. Unless the oven is hot the rolls will spread and the crust be hard.—Col. McClure’s Philadelphia Times.
Wheat Bread.—Put seven pounds of flour into a bread-pan, hollow out the centre, and add a quart of lukewarm water, a teaspoonful of salt, and a wineglassful of yeast. Have ready more warm water, and add gradually as much as will make a smooth, soft dough. Knead it well; dust a little flour over it, cover it with a cloth, and set it in a warm place for four hours; then knead it again for fifteen minutes and let it rise again. Divide it into loaves and bake in a quick oven.
Corn Bread.—Sift three quarts of corn meal, add a tablespoonful of salt, and mix sufficient water with it to make a very thin batter. Cover it with a bread-cloth and set it to rise. When ready to bake stir it well, pour it into a baking-pan, and bake slowly. Use cold water in summer and hot water in winter.
Continental Hotel Corn Bread.—Sift together a pound and a half wheat flour, one pound Indian meal, two ounces Royal Baking Powder, and a tablespoonful salt. Beat together three ounces of sugar, three ounces of butter, and four eggs; add the mixture to the flour, and make a stiff batter by adding warm milk if in winter, cold milk in summer. Bake in small square moulds.
Continental Hotel Muffins.—Mix two and a half pounds flour, three ounces Royal Baking Powder, and tablespoonful salt. Beat up three ounces of sugar, three ounces butter, and four eggs together; add to the flour, make a batter with milk, half fill the muffin-rings, and bake in a quick oven.
Boston Brown Bread.—Sift together thoroughly half a pint of flour, one pint corn meal, half a pint rye flour, one teaspoonful salt, one tablespoonful brown sugar, and two teaspoonfuls baking powder. Peel, wash, and boil two mealy potatoes; rub them through the sieve, diluting with half a pint of water. When this is quite cold use it to make a batter and pour it into a well-greased mould having a cover. Place it in a saucepan of boiling water. Simmer one hour without the water getting into it; take it out of the water, remove the cover, and finish cooking by baking about thirty minutes.
Steamed Brown Bread.—One quart each of milk and Indian meal, one pint of rye meal, one cup of molasses, two teaspoonfuls of soda. Add a little salt and steam four hours.
Milk Biscuit.—Take one-fourth of a pound butter, one quart lukewarm milk, two wineglassfuls yeast, salt to taste, and as much flour as will form the dough. Stir flour into the milk to make a thick batter, and add the yeast. This should be done in the evening. Next morning melt the butter and pour it into the sponge; add flour enough to make a stiff dough; knead it well and set it aside to rise. When perfectly light roll it out an inch thick and cut the biscuits, set them in shallow baking-pans, and set them in a moderately warm place to rise. When they are light brush beaten egg over them and bake in a quick oven.
Corn Cakes.—Scrape twelve ears of corn, use two eggs, one and one-half cups of milk, salt and pepper to taste, and flour enough to hold all together. Fry in hot fat.
Fried Bread Cakes.—Add half a cupful of melted butter, three of “A” sugar, four eggs, teaspoonful of salt, and a little grated nutmeg to five cupfuls of dough. Knead these well together with flour, and set it before the fire to rise until very light. Knead the dough again after it rises, and cut it into diamond or crescent shaped cakes; let them rise, and fry them in boiling fat.
Pies.—Pie, and the extent to which it is consumed in this country, have long been a subject upon which Europeans travelling here have exercised their descriptive and imaginative powers. It seems to be a cardinal belief on the other side that no meal is furnished here without a superabundance of pie; that, even at the best inns and restaurants in New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, pie is devoured at breakfast, luncheon, dinner, and supper; that no American would sit down to a table where he could not see plenty of pie; that all the States are closely connected and bound together by a prejudice in favor of pie; that it was love of pie rather than force of patriotism which, in the civil war, preserved the Union. Sala is one of the latest Englishmen to descant on the omnipresence and national omnivorousness of pie. He devotes ample space to it in one of his recent letters to the London Telegraph; admits that he has eaten it, and that it is so very toothsome that it is difficult to resist its temptations. He has done what a great many of our own people never do. Hundreds of families in this and in other cities do not see a pie from beginning to end of the year. Thousands of natives have never tasted pie. In the large towns of the Middle States it is but seldom put on the table. New England, indeed, is the region to which pie is indigenous, though even there it is confined mainly to the rural districts. It appears odd, however, that Englishmen should so animadvert on our pies, as if they had never tasted or heard of such things. They have any quantity of pies at home, but these are meat pies, commonly of pork and mutton, and as hostile to gastric conditions as bad pastry and poor baking can conveniently make them. They have, too, any number of fruit pies, giving them the name of tarts, not to be compared with our pies. The gooseberry tart, almost as much a British dish as plum-pudding, is eaten from Cornwall to Northumberland, and that its eaters survive it proves the strength and elasticity of the national stomach. It is usually as heavy as lead and a guarantee of indigestion. The French also have numberless pies under the disguise of tartes, but no better than, often not so good as, ours. In truth, the American pie is widely prevalent in the Old World, where, as a rule, it is inferior to the native article.
Puff Paste.—Good sweet, salt butter, which has been washed in cold water, squeezed between the hands to free it from the salt, and afterwards wrung in a cloth to take away all the moisture, is the best material that can be used. The consistency of the butter is of much importance. If it is too hard it will not easily mix with the flour, but if it is too soft the paste will be entirely spoilt in consequence of the butter breaking through the edges while it is being rolled. As the difficulty experienced is generally to get the butter sufficiently cool, it is a good plan to place it upon ice before using it for the pastry. In hot weather the paste should be placed in a cool place a few minutes between each turn. If very flaky pastry is required, the paste may be brushed lightly over each time it is rolled with white of egg. Sift one pound of flour; put it on the pastry-board. Make a hole in the centre; add half a teaspoonsful salt and little less than half a pint of ice-water. The exact quantity of water cannot be given, owing to the difference in flour, but experience will soon enable you to determine when the paste is sufficiently stiff. Mix it in gradually with a knife, then work it lightly with the hands to form a smooth paste. Have ready three-quarters of a pound of butter. Flatten the paste till it is an inch thick; lay the butter in the centre, and fold over the four sides of the paste so as to form a square and completely hide the butter. Leave this to cool a few minutes, then dredge the board and the paste with flour, and roll the paste out very thin, and be especially careful that the butter does not break through the flour. Fold over a third of the length from one end, and lay the other third upon it. This folding into three is called giving one turn. Let the paste rest for a few minutes, then give it two more turns; rest again, and give it two more. This will be in all five turns, and these will generally be found sufficient. If, however, the pastry is to be used for patties, etc., six or seven turns will be required. Gather the paste together, and it is ready for use, and should be baked as soon as possible; and remember to dredge a little flour over it, the board, and rolling-pin every time it is rolled, to keep it from sticking. French cooks mix the yolks of two eggs with flour and water in the first instance. If a very rich paste is required a pound of butter to a pound of flour may be used.
Paste.—One pound of flour, half a pound of butter, half a pound of lard. With a little water make a dough of the flour and lard; then roll it; spread a portion of the butter over it; fold and roll again; add more butter, and so on until you have used the half pound all up.
You cannot make good paste out of poor flour. The “Perfection New Process Flour” will give you entire satisfaction.
Currant-Jelly.—Make a good crust and cover your plates with it. Pare, core, and cut up the apples in small pieces; put them on to stew in just water enough to cover them; quarter a lemon and stew with the apples. When soft mash the apples, remove the seeds if any, sweeten to taste, and flavor with nutmeg or ground cinnamon.
Sliced Apple Pie.—Make a good, light crust; wet the edge of the pie-plate and lay a thin strip all round. Pare, core, and slice the apples; lay them on the paste with a little sugar, the juice of half a lemon; flavor with nutmeg. Lay a top crust over the fruit, and bake nearly three-quarters of an hour.
Apple Meringue Pie.—Prepare the pie as in the foregoing receipt, omitting the upper crust, and while the pie is baking prepare a méringue by beating up the whites of three eggs with three ounces of powdered sugar to a stiff broth; spread two-thirds of the mixture over the fire, and put the other third into a paper funnel or cornucopia, and by squeezing it decorate the pie according to fancy; dust sugar over it. Return it to the oven to set the méringue.
Apple-Custard Pie.—Beat up six eggs with a cupful of sugar; add them to three cupfuls of stewed apples (cold), and add gradually a quart of milk to the mixture; season with nutmeg; cover the pie-plate with a good crust, with the edge neatly arranged; fill the pie with the custard, and bake.
Mince-meat for Pie.—Shred and chop very fine two pounds of beef suet; by dredging the suet occasionally with flour it chops more easily and does not clog; boil slowly, but thoroughly, two pounds of lean round of beef and chop fine (mix all the ingredients as they are prepared); stone and cut fine two pounds of raisins; wash and pick two pounds of currants; cut fine half a pound of citron; chop two pounds of apples, weighing them after they have been peeled and cored; a tablespoonful of salt, a teaspoonful of ground cinnamon, a grated nutmeg, a salt-spoonful of allspice, half as much cloves, half an ounce of essence of almonds, a pint of brandy, and a pint of cider. This may be kept in a cool place all winter. If too dry add more cider.
Manufacturers are competing with each other in the preparation of mince-meat to such an extent that it is no longer economy to prepare your mince-meat at home. Most of our first-class hotels use the “Thanksgiving Brand,” a genuine New England preparation. It is put up in five or ten pound buckets, and I consider it a great saving to families, both in time and materials, to secure their meat all ready prepared, when they know they can get a reliable article.
When you are about to make mince-pies moisten the meat with cider, port, brandy, or water.
Pumpkin Pie.—Cut the pumpkin into strips, and stew them in water enough to cover them nicely; when done pour off the water and press the pumpkin through a sieve; add to the pulp two quarts of milk, and nine eggs to every quart of pulp; sweeten with sugar (beat the sugar and eggs together), and season liberally with ginger and nutmeg; prepare the pie-plates with a crust as for custard pies; fill the plate with the mixture, and bake in a hot oven. Serve the pies when cold. After drawing off the water from the pumpkin cover the pot with a towel and let it stand half an hour on the back part of the range to dry out the moisture.
Fruit Pies.—The under-paste for fruit pies may be made of flour and lard, but the top is generally made of good puff paste; it may cover the pie entirely or only in strips, according to fancy. Should the fruit require longer cooking than the paste, prepare it by stewing or simmering before filling the pies with it.
Custard Pies.—Line a well-buttered pie-plate with a good paste; arrange a thick pie rim round the edge of the plate; beat up four eggs with one cupful of sugar, and gradually add a pint and a half of milk; fill the pies while in the oven; grate a little nutmeg over them and bake about twenty minutes.
Lemon Cream Pie.—Boil a pint and a half of milk, and add three tablespoonfuls corn-starch dissolved in a little cold milk. Return the milk to the fire; take the juice of two lemons, four eggs, one cupful sugar, and two tablespoonfuls of butter. Beat these ingredients together, and add to the milk; flavor with a teaspoonful of extract of lemon and grated nutmeg; pour the mixture into the pies (prepared as for custard pies) and bake. When done remove from the oven and set it aside. Whip up the whites of four eggs to a froth, and gradually add a cupful of powdered sugar; spread two-thirds of the mixture on the pie, and put the other one-third into a cornucopia, and by squeezing it decorate the pie according to fancy. Return it to the oven a few minutes to set the méringue.
Lemon Cream Pie, No. 2.—One tablespoonful of corn-starch dissolved in cold water, one cupful of boiling hot water, one tablespoonful of butter, one egg, juice and rind of one lemon. Sweeten to taste, and set aside to get cold. Fill crust with this cream, and bake in a hot oven.
Orange Pie.—Work a teacupful of powdered sugar and a tablespoonful of butter to a cream. Mix a tablespoonful of corn-starch with a little cold water, and add a teacupful of boiling water; let it cook long enough to thicken, stirring constantly; then pour the mixture on to the butter and sugar. Grate the peel from half an orange, and chop the other half fine—first removing all the inner white skin. Add this to the former ingredients, also a beaten egg and the juice of an orange. Peel another orange, and slice it in little thin bits, being careful to remove all the seeds and the tough white skin. Line a pie-plate with nice paste and bake it until just done; then fill with the custard and orange slices, and bake long enough to cook the egg. A méringue made with the whites of two eggs, a pinch of salt, and two tablespoonfuls of powdered sugar, beaten to a stiff froth, will be an improvement. Spread it over the pie; sift powdered sugar on the top, and set it again in the oven until slightly colored.
English Plum Pudding.—Take six ounces of finely grated bread, and mix with them a pound of flour, a pound of beef suet floured and chopped fine, a teaspoonful salt, half a pound of granulated sugar, three-fourths of a pound of raisins stoned and chopped, three-fourths of a pound of washed currants, two ounces each of candied lemon and orange peel, two ounces of citron shredded, a quarter of a pound apple chopped fine, half an ounce of mixed spice, consisting of ground cloves, cinnamon, and grated nutmeg, and half a teaspoonful of fresh grated lemon-peel. Mix these ingredients thoroughly, and work the mixture into a stiff batter by adding to it five eggs beaten up with half a pint of rich milk and a gill of brandy; turn the mixture into a floured towel; shape it nicely; tie it up not too tightly, but leave room enough for it to swell. Put it into a saucepan of boiling water, and keep it boiling for five hours uninterruptedly. Have a kettle of boiling water ready to add to your saucepan as fast as the water evaporates. When done sift powdered sugar over it; pour a little brandy or Jamaica rum round it; set a match to the liquor, and send it to the table with a hard or brandy sauce.
Plum-Pudding Sauce.—Four ounces sugar and two ounces butter, well creamed together; then beat an egg well into it, with two ounces of brandy.
New England Plum Pudding.—Two pounds bread, four quarts milk, three pounds raisins, two grated nutmegs, three teaspoonfuls each of cinnamon and allspice, eight eggs, one cup sugar, and one cup molasses. Bake three hours.
Plain Plum Pudding.—Flour six ounces of suet, and chop it fine; add a quarter of a pound of currants, the same quantity of raisins, half a teaspoonful salt, and a teaspoonful Royal Baking Powder; sift a pound of flour into the mixture; mix the dry ingredients thoroughly, and stir into them nearly a pint of milk with three tablespoonfuls of molasses; add a little mixed spice; shape the pudding nicely; tie it up in a floured towel, allowing room for it to swell, and boil three hours.
Boiled Pudding.—Take a cupful of chopped suet, a cupful of grated bread, and a cupful of washed currants; mix with two tablespoonfuls sugar, a teaspoonful of grated lemon-peel, a salt-spoonful salt, and grated nutmeg; beat up two eggs with half a cupful of milk, and work the mixture to a light paste; wring some small cloths out of boiling water, flour them, and tie in each a small portion of the mixture; plunge them into boiling water, let them boil quickly half an hour, turn them out on a hot dish, dash sugar over them, and serve with a sauce made of sweetened melted butter, with a teaspoonful of grated lemon-peel, nutmeg to taste; a few spoonfuls of brandy will improve it.
Batter Pudding.—Beat the yolks and whites of four eggs separately, and mix them with six or eight ounces of flour and a salt-spoonful of salt. Make the batter of the proper consistency by adding a little more than a pint of milk; mix carefully; butter a baking-tin, pour the mixture into it, and bake three-quarters of an hour. Serve with vanilla sauce.
Vanilla Sauce.—Put half a pint of milk in a small saucepan over the fire; when scalding hot add the yolks of three eggs, and stir until it is as thick as boiled custard; remove the saucepan from the fire, and when cool add a tablespoonful of Thurber’s double extract of vanilla and the beaten whites of two eggs.
Chocolate Pudding.—One quart of milk boiled with one ounce of grated chocolate; sweeten to taste, and flavor with vanilla. Boil thoroughly, and stand aside to cool fifteen minutes; then stir in the yolks of six eggs, well beaten; bake in a pudding-dish until it stiffens like custard. Beat the whites of six eggs, with six tablespoonfuls of powdered sugar, to a stiff froth, and spread over top of pudding; put in oven and brown quickly.
Crullers.—Half a pint of buttermilk, one cupful of butter, two cupfuls sugar, and three eggs; beat up the eggs and add the sugar and milk. Dissolve half a teaspoonful of saleratus in a little hot water; add to the mixture, with a teaspoonful salt, half a nutmeg grated, and half a teaspoonful of fresh ground cinnamon. Work in as much sifted flour as will make a smooth dough; mix thoroughly; dredge the board, rolling-pin, and dough with flour; roll it out and cut it in rings or fingers, and fry in hot fat.
I have recommended buttermilk in the above receipt, knowing its excellent qualities; but the majority of housekeepers consider it utterly useless. The following from the British Mail is appropriate here: “As the butter which is taken from the milk is only the carbonaceous or heat-producing element, there are still left in it all the nourishing properties which make it so valuable as food. As a drink for men at work in the hot sun buttermilk is far preferable to cider, metheglin, switchel, or any preparation of beer whatever, as it is not only cooling and refreshing, but also strength-giving. Of course there are plenty of people, who are constantly dosing themselves with blood-searchers, liver-purifiers, and stomach-invigorators, who would laugh at the mention of buttermilk as a medicine, and yet if they could be once persuaded to try drinking a glass of that fresh beverage every day they would soon find a corrective of their poor appetites and ‘clogged-up’ livers. In a little book of ‘Plain Directions for the Care of the Sick,’ written by an intelligent physician of Philadelphia, who has under his medical supervision several charitable institutions, we find buttermilk mentioned as being very useful, especially in fevers, as an article of diet for the sick.”
Baking Powder.—I have endeavored to recommend to my many readers a few articles used in cooking that my long experience as a caterer has taught me are the best. A good baking powder is a very important article to have in every household, but it is difficult to get a powder without the presence of alum.
The Brooklyn Board of Health, on motion of President Crane, the Sanitary Superintendent, was directed to procure samples of the various kinds of baking powders sold in Brooklyn, have them analyzed, and make a report thereon to the Board. Without going in detail into the constitution of baking powders, it will only be necessary to say that they are made with bicarbonate of soda, or carbonate of ammonia, and cream of tartar, chemically known as the bitartrate of potassa. But the lack of skill, resulting in lumps of soda in the product, led manufacturers to ascertain the proper proportion of these salts and to mix them, selling the compound as a baking powder. Some of the manufacturers, on account of the cheapness of alum, have introduced it as an ingredient into baking powder, and the report of the Brooklyn Board concludes as follows: “From a careful examination we are satisfied that the weight of evidence is against the use of alum in baking powders, and that the risks incurred in its use are too great to be incurred for the sake of cheapness alone. The mucous membrane of the stomach and the intestinal canal is a delicate structure, and materials which would produce no effect on the outside skin might irritate and inflame these organs.”
Dr. Mott, the Government Chemist, in his review of the subject, makes special mention of having analyzed the Royal Baking Powder and found it composed of pure and wholesome materials. He also advises the public to avoid purchasing baking powders as sold loose or in bulk, as he has found by analyses of many samples that the worst adulterations are practised in this form. And I may cheerfully add that our first-class hotels use only the best of everything, not only in baking powders but in every article that enters their storerooms, and that Royal Baking Powder is the only baking powder they allow used in their bakeries, it being free from alum and other unwholesome ingredients.
Roly-Poly Pudding.—One quart of flour, one-half pound of suet chopped fine; rub in a little salt with flour, wet with water, and then roll it out and spread any kind of fruit over it. Roll up, put in cloth, and boil one hour.